All the Way

Chapter Three

I’m not going to respond. I’m not going to respond. I’m not going to—

The mantra pounded over and over as his lips skated gently across hers. She steeled herself for the invasion and vowed to fight, but it never came. As if he had all the time in the world to re-discover her taste and texture, his mouth skimmed…pressed…retreated…until an unconscious moan rose from her throat and her fingers tightened around him.

Never changing the force of his teasing kiss, he returned the pressure of her fingers, squeezing, then slowly unlacing as he broke contact of skin against skin. One thumb massaged the sensitive flesh of her palm, then stroked upward to press into her thudding pulse point. Her hand flexed, and every inch of her body jumped to life. Her nipples rose against the cotton of her shirt. Denim brushed against denim as he shifted his weight. His belt buckle scraped against her lower belly, and caused a rush of liquid heat to pound between her thighs. Her lips parted under the delicious persuasion of his, but still he held back, tracing the corners of her mouth with the tip of his tongue.

She ached for an intense strength she could fight. Instead, he snared her with a delicate heat that promised her a world of sensation, as if he knew her body would always welcome him back.

She tilted her head and allowed him access, but he ignored her request. Suddenly she gazed into an ocean of heat, burning with a demand and hunger. “You have to say the words, Miranda.” The silky command raked across her ears. “Invite me in.”

Her hips arched upward. He was a real life vampire, seducing her to opening her window so he could bring her pleasure and steal her soul. “No.”

The game continued. His teeth nibbled on her bottom lip, then soothed with his tongue, always refusing to kiss her the way she needed. One foot nudged her legs apart so he could angle his hips more intimately against hers. The hard length of his erection settled between her thighs. His hands stroked each finger with a completeness that told her he would give as much attention to other parts of her body. Parts that ached for him. Drugged up with bliss, she moaned and reached for him.

“Is this what you want?” he murmured.

She shook with rage and passion and wanting. “I hate you.”

He buried his hands in her hair. “I know.”

“Yes.”

With a muttered curse, his mouth came down on hers. His tongue plundered the seam of her lips and re-staked his claim. The taste of him drove her mad for more as he explored and conquered every slick, satiny corner of her mouth. She gave him free access and met each thrust of his tongue with her own. Her breasts were crushed against the muscled wall of his chest. The gentle teasing turned into an inferno. His hips rocked against hers. She arched and demanded more.

“Let me touch you.”

She didn’t need to say the word. In a moment, her shirt was unbuttoned and parted. A deep-seated groan rumbled from his chest at her lack of a bra, and then his fingers stroked her swollen flesh.

“Gavin!”

“I know, baby, I know.” One thumb raked across the ruby crest and he lowered his lips to take her in his mouth. He bit and licked, pushing her closer into a seething pit of sensation.

“I’ve thought about you like this,” he whispered. “Every night climbing into bed I dreamed of touching you, hearing you cry out in pleasure.” He nibbled on her neck as his hands lifted her breasts and rubbed her nipples. “Let me show you how much I need you. Let me make love to you and you’ll see we belong together. You’re safe with me, sweetheart, I swear it.”

I love you, Gavin, I love you…

He’d left before, and he’d leave again. Was she so weak-willed and pathetic she’d allow him to repeat the same move three years later?

Her skin chilled as if steeped in ice water. Slowly, she reached out and pushed against his chest. He looked up.

“Nice try. But a good screw still won’t make me do a second review.”

“We were always better than a good screw and you know it. Don’t try to deny the connection we have.”

She twisted her lips. “Orgasms don’t make a connection, Gavin. I’ve moved beyond that now. Maybe it’s time to up your game.”

He jerked back. Torment shone briefly in those eyes, then disappeared. “God, what happened to you? How did you become so cold?”

She calmly buttoned her shirt. “I was taught by the best.”

He cursed and rubbed his forehead. “I deserved that, I guess.”

She didn’t answer, just leaned against the door and watched him.

“Do you know what karma is, Miranda?” He let out a humorless laugh. “In India they believe karma is the result of your past lives and actions. You re-connect with people who you’ve known before.”

He glanced over but she refused to answer.

“Karma is like destiny. When two people discover each other from past lives, they form a deep connection. Three years ago I was only willing to have an affair. I’d decided I wanted more from my life than to run the family business, settle down, and have children. I craved freedom, and I thought that came with money and power. Maybe before if I had stayed, I would’ve ended up hurting you in a different way. Because I wasn’t ready. Now I am.”

He reached out and pushed back a stray curl from her face. “I want a chance to show you the man I really am. I want a chance to make it up to you.”

Her lower lip trembled. The memory of those weeks after he left still bruised at a touch. The loneliness and fear. The knowledge she was alone and hadn’t been good enough. Was never good enough. “It’s too late.”

She waited for his final acceptance. His hand dropped away. He opened the door and paused. “You’re wrong. You’re going to welcome me back into your bed. You’re going to trust me again. Because it’s our karma.”

Then he left.

…

Gavin climbed into his black Mercedes, shut the door, and clasped his hands around the steering wheel. The leather seat creaked gently beneath his weight as he gazed out through the windshield.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe it was too late.

How would he ever convince her to forgive him?

How many times had he picked up the phone, aching to hear her voice? How many letters had he written but never mailed? He shook his head in disgust. Overwhelmed by the sights he encountered and the emotions bubbling up inside, he’d penned his feelings to her in every city over the damn country. Each time he stopped at the post office, ready to mail them, something held him back. As time passed, his decision became easier to keep the letters his secret. He knew written words couldn’t change things between them. So, he threw himself into his work and searched for his own answers.

When he got back into town, he tracked her down immediately. The memory of her strolling out of her office, laughing with Andy, punched him in the gut. They looked…close. Intimate in the way of friends, maybe more. He watched them walk down the street and realized he had no right to appear back in her life.

Until she showed up at Mia Casa.

Karma.

He needed to use this opportunity to right his past mistakes. Save the restaurant. Gain Miranda’s forgiveness. But one look twisted his motivations. He wanted more. Her body, her mind. Even her heart.

He had no right to demand any of it. He would have to go back to Europe within eight weeks. Unless he tossed it all and stayed. The first time he chose his career. Would she give him another chance to choose her? Could he give up everything he worked hard to build for the unknown?

Maybe. Damn, he wanted a shot. He already experienced the burn of her body. Now he wanted to dive back in and see the woman she’d become. In order to have that option, he faced the hurdle of trying to un-break her heart.

Gavin pressed the button and the engine purred to life. He had a long road ahead, but his travels taught him the fine art of patience. And that kiss proved she still had feelings for him. It was a tiny spark to cling to, but one spark could ignite a fire.

Gavin threw the clutch into gear and drove out of the parking lot.

…

Miranda shuffled the papers on her desk and tried to keep her butt in the chair. Ever since Gavin walked out of her apartment a few days ago, her writing had stalled. Almost as if guilt mocked her. Not over his attempt to forge a physical relationship to gain a second review. No, the main thing keeping her blocked and up half the night was the knowledge he was right. The main reason she wrote that review was revenge. Guess it was a dish best served cold after all.

She pushed back a sigh and re-focused on the one sentence she managed to compose. At least it was over. Gavin finally backed off. Though they’d exchanged harsh words, it was for the best. No man could possibly handle all that hostility and return for more.

“Hey, Miranda, looks like you don’t have to go out for today’s review.”

“Hmm?” She glanced up from her computer. The pencil she’d been tapping fell from her fingers, causing the copy editor who had yelled the comment to laugh. “Oh, no.”

Gavin strode through the newsroom as if he was editor-in-chief and barked orders to the two men trailing behind. They grumbled beneath their breath as they pushed a silver tray cart across the room and stopped by her cubicle. Giggles and whispers cut through the air as all eyes focused on her guest.

“Your lunch, madam.”

Her mouth fell open. “Are you insane? What are you doing here?”

“Giving you a chance to taste the real menu at Mia Casa.” He nodded to the other men. They looked at each other and shook their heads, as if they knew their boss was crazy, then whipped off the covers from the plates. The rich scents of fresh tomatoes, lemon and garlic wafted in the air. Miranda firmly ignored the sudden cry of her stomach and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I’m not doing another review, Gavin.”

The younger man gazed at Gavin in triumph. “I told you she wouldn’t do it. I told you this was a stupid idea. If Pop had given me the restaurant, this would have never happened.”

“Yeah, Brando, you’ve been telling me that ever since I got back. Oh, by the way, Miranda, this is my younger brother.”

She raised a brow. She’d never met Gavin’s family. Their brief affair hadn’t afforded her the status of being introduced to family members. After all, sex was kept in the bedroom. She ignored the cut of pain and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Some of the sulkiness left his face and he smiled. “Hey, I think your column is pretty cool, and I have a tip for you. My girlfriend Tracey works at this pizza place in the Village, and she says they make the best Sicilian. It’s called Sammy’s Slice. I bet I can get you a discount.”

“Thanks, Brando. I’ll take it under advisement.”

The older man stuck his head in between them and put out his hand. “I’m Antonio, signorina, and I am the chef at Mia Casa. I can promise you today’s lunch will be the best you’ve ever had.” He beamed. “My wife is not having an affair.”

“Oh.” A puzzled frown creased her brow as she shook his hand. “Well, I’m very glad for you, Antonio.”

“Yes, this is a very good thing.”

Gavin turned to the two men. “Now that the introductions are made, if you gentlemen will leave us, I’ll see you back at the restaurant.”

With a quick good-bye, they left. Miranda looked down at the elegant silver tray, complete with linen napkins, serving utensils, and a long stemmed red rose. She sighed. “Why are you doing this?”

He draped one napkin over his arm and filled her plate. “Maybe I wanted to finish our conversation. Maybe I thought you were hungry.”

“Maybe you should have called.”

“This is more personal. Besides, I bet you haven’t eaten yet.”

Her stomach growled on cue, but he kept his face neutral. His knit shirt stretched across broad muscles. He stood hands on hips, legs braced apart, and his actual aura vibrated with unconscious arrogance. Miranda shook her head in amazement. The man served her lunch and he exuded a casual elegance, reminding her of royalty.

“You’re still bossy,” she grumbled. “Just because I’m eating this doesn’t mean I’m giving in. I hate to waste food.”

“Point taken.” He handed her the plate and grabbed one of the computer chairs, settling himself down. “What are you working on?”

She swallowed a perfect bite of eggplant Parmesan and tried to mask her surprise. “We’re expanding the Miranda Eats column. My editor wants to start printing some of the common questions people write in about.”

“Like who pays for your meals when you go on reviews?”

“Exactly.” Miranda wondered how Antonio had achieved such a wonderful combination of firmness and texture to the eggplant. Too many times the vegetable came out limp and soggy. She took another bite. “It’s amazing how many readers assume I pay for myself and write the review out of the kindness of my heart. People think I’m an aspiring author who’s desperate to be published in anything.”

“Are you an aspiring author?” he asked curiously.

She laughed. “No, but I have a skill for the written word. Always did.”

“What happened to the culinary? I assumed you’d be set up in some four-star kitchen, perhaps running your own cooking show on the Food Network. You always had such a passion for food.”

“I still do. I spent the first year learning the basics, but I wasn’t happy. I lacked the skill and passion to cook professionally, but inherited the rare gift of palette. I dropped out when I realized my favorite part was tasting the food, and I despised the rest of the steps. The idea of being trapped in the kitchen made me shudder.”

He smiled. “You always did have a free spirit.”

“Yeah, that’s not how Chef Riley described me.” She winced at the memory. “Anyway, I know good food and bad food. I can also pinpoint and explain in basic language to the layperson. It took me a while with different papers before scoring an opportunity with The Herald. I started slow, with guest appearances, then built to a weekly column. But everything exploded when a friend of mine who works for Foodie magazine did a feature on me. Suddenly, I got offered the HotSpot feature. I dated a few chefs, was written up in the gossip pages, and found I had officially arrived.” She crinkled her nose. “It’s embarrassing. I always thought food critics were unknown entities who can hide their identity and sneak into famous restaurants. Instead, I’m invited to openings and courted around the city. Kind of hard to sneak in and do a review undercover now. Pretty amazing stuff for someone with no classical culinary training.”

“Your parents never cooked?”

The dark memory stole across her joy for a moment. With effort, she pushed it back. “No, they weren’t around.”

He focused on her face and stripped away the barrier. “You never did speak about your past or upbringing,” he said softly. “Either way, I think you’re damn amazing.”

Pleasure surged but she reminded herself he was a man on a mission. “I’ve come a long way since my first column.”

“I remember. You wrote about the lure of the cheeseburger and gained a whole new audience.”

She looked up. “How did you know about that?”

“I read your work while I was away.”

She peered over her glasses, suspicious, but only met a naked hunger in those blue depths that rattled her to the core. She nervously dabbed the napkin at the corner of her lips and looked away. Time to change the subject. “Does your family enjoy having you home?”

“Sometimes.”

“Explain.”

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “The biggest statistic for restaurant failure is money. I have plenty, so when Pop called me, I knew I’d be able to renovate the place and pour funds into marketing and advertising. Of course, my father doesn’t agree. He says the success of Mia Casa depends on heart.”

“I like your dad already.”

“Try working with him. My whole family is the poster image of Italian stubbornness. I tore up half the place to put in a new lounge and update the bar. They hate it. They drove out a celebrity chef and fight me on every change I institute. Sometimes I feel like I need to coax a rabbit from the damn Mad Hatter to win an argument.”

“Have you seen a difference from your investment yet?”

“New clientele are coming in. But not as much as I anticipated. Now, with a great review…”

“Keep dreaming.”

“Right. Well, maybe Gordon Ramsey will bail me out of the mess.”

She arched a brow. “You contacted Ramsey?”

Gavin shrugged. “Worth a try. I pulled in all my contacts and put in a request to get us featured on Kitchen Nightmares.”

“What in the world made you decide on that option?”

“A bottle of Johnny Walker.”

A laugh sputtered from her lips. She hated his wit and humor.

“Does Andy work with you?” he asked.

“He writes the lifestyle column. Exercise, health and diet are his main focus.”

“But he goes with you on reviews?”

“Yep.”

Gavin remained silent. His fishing expedition was obvious, but damned if she’d tell him straight out Andy and her were platonic. Let him stew.

“You’re close friends?”

“Yep.”

The chair squeaked as he shifted his weight. “And he has a kid.”

“Actually, he has two. Stephen and Laura. Laura was in dance class at the time.”

He tapped his shoe absently against the metal rung. “I see. You went to the opera together, which means you must be very close friends.”

“I said that already.”

“Right.”

The tapping grew more insistent. Miranda put down her fork and tried the small portion of linguini. A moan rose to her lips. Perfect. Al-dente, with just enough oil and garlic to make her taste buds sing. Fresh Roma tomatoes, basil…and was that thyme or rosemary? A mixture? Tarragon would be absolutely impossible, right?

“Miranda?”

“Oh, sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

She choked and grabbed her napkin to keep the linguini from spilling out of her mouth. “What kind of question is that? It’s none of your business.”

He seemed to think it over. “Maybe not. You’ve already told me you think it’s too late for us, but I think you should know he’s one of the reasons I didn’t approach you sooner.”

“What do you mean?”

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the burnished strands. “I followed you a couple of times. I thought if we sat down and talked, I’d get a chance to tell you my side of the story. But you were with Andy, and you both seemed familiar. I decided to keep my distance.”

“You followed me?”

He nodded. “I knew I didn’t have the right to interfere if you were involved. God knows I wanted to, but I figured you’d kick me to the curb.”

“You would’ve been right.” She twirled her linguini around the fork. The idea that Gavin tracked her down made strange feelings stir to life. An inner voice warned her not to go down that yellow brick road, because it would never lead to the wizard. Ah, hell. “Andy is married.”

“Oh.” He paused. “Are you sleeping with him?”

Miranda gasped. “No! I’d never sleep with a married man. I’m good friends with Andy’s wife, Elaine. I babysit, and borrow Andy for reviews. I hate eating alone and can’t bring a date to a business meal.” She pushed her glasses firmly back up her nose. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

He grinned and his shoulders relaxed. “I know. I just wanted to make you mad. Your eyes flash and your cheeks get that flushed look to them. As if we were making—”

“Don’t say it.”

“Sorry.” He gestured toward the food. “Good?”

“It’s okay.” She avoided his knowing stare and concentrated on twirling. “Tell me why you’re back in New York working at the restaurant.”

“Mia Casa has been in the family for a very long time. It was passed on from my great-grandparents. I was trained since a toddler how to work in a restaurant, and everyone assumed that as the eldest son, I’d take over.”

“But you had different plans?”

He gazed off into the distance, as if fighting memories. “I wanted to travel and see new places. We had this customer who used to come in, and he’d always be jetting off to these exotic locations on business. When I told Pop about it he just laughed. Told me real values were based on family, children, and home. I imagined myself his age, doing the same thing day after day, and freaked out. That’s when I made the decision to do everything possible not to give my father what he wanted.”

She tilted her head. “It’s normal for a child to want the opposite of the parents. Especially when there’s a lot of pressure to fall into line.”

He shook his head. “Mia Casa became a trap for me. All I could see was my family struggling all the time to keep it going. We weren’t poor, Miranda. We just didn’t have many things. God knows, I wanted those things.”

“What happened when your parents found out you weren’t going to run the business?”

“First they threw a fit, but eventually they supported my decision. Pop told me I needed to find my own way to happiness.” He cleared his throat as if fighting emotion. “Also told me I’d realize the important things and eventually come home.”

She fiddled with the edge of the napkin. “So, when you got the European contract you felt like you’d achieved your dream.”

“Yes. At first I was happy, or so I told myself. Time blurred and I never questioned my decision. Until Pop called and said Mia Casa was in trouble. I left immediately and decided to stay until I get the restaurant afloat.”

“How long?”

He shifted his feet. “I took a three month leave of absence. I have two months left.”

She nodded. “Will that be enough time?”

“I hope so. I’ve used endless connections, advertised, and the new lounge opens up this week. It has all the ingredients for success.”

“Seems like once those loose ties are knotted, you’ll be on your merry way again.” Her temper burned. Why should this be easy for him? Did he really think he could stroll into her workplace, make her lunch, and waltz her into bed? Had she been so easy before?

“That’s the original plan.” He rocked back on his heels. “But I’m open to a new one.”

She snorted. “Maybe it’s time you realize people don’t always fall in line with your big bad plans. Especially if they’re temporary.” Before he could defend himself, she waved a hand in dismissal. “Whatever. I’m happy for you. Happy you got what you always wanted.”

His voice grew gritty with regret. “Yes. But I had to give you up to do it.” He leaned forward. “So I really lost.”

Startled, her gaze flew to his, and her fingers clenched.

Fire.

The connection burned with a fierceness that shook her body. She could handle a flicker of old feelings from the past. It was the new emotions that sprung to life that were causing the trouble. The swirling mixture of familiarity and wanting and completeness when their eyes locked. Three years ago, the physical attraction between them dominated the relationship. Now, a strange longing to know this new man reared up. He was different. Oh, he owned the same arrogance and confidence possessed three years ago, but now there was an inner knowing reflected in his face. He was actually more powerful, because he knew who he was, and he knew what he wanted.

Miranda realized she was in real danger.

She pushed away her plate. “Thank you for lunch,” she said politely. “I really have a lot of work to do, so I’d appreciate it if you leave now.”

He studied her in silence. The busy sounds of the newsroom swarmed around them. “Miranda, have dinner with me Saturday night.”

“No.”

“Why?”

She let out an exasperated breath. “Because I said I can’t.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Of course not. If you must know, I’m babysitting for Andy Saturday night.”

“I’ll help you.”

A laugh escaped her lips. “No, Andy won’t like that idea.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t like you.”

That stopped him for a moment. “I’ll have to change his mind then, won’t I?”

Irritation nipped. “No. I’m not one of your clients or your customers, and I won’t be bullied. Neither will Andy. I will not go out with you Saturday night or any night after that. Do you understand?”

A smile ghosted his lips. “I understand.” He stood and collected the tray. “I’ll be in touch, Red.”

His disappearance rubbed her raw. Seemed like he had no problem walking away from anything of value in his life, and she wasn’t about to stick around for a stroll down memory lane. There was only a world of hurt waiting for her. She was probably some sick type of challenge. Gain her forgiveness, earn her trust, pat her on the head, and strut back to his perfect life. He seemed to think he had a big S curved onto his chest, but like Superman, he only swept in to save the day and flew away for the next crisis. Superman had no frickin’ staying power.

Jerk.

A weird pressure vibrated around her and she turned her head to find three of her co-workers staring at her.

“What?” she asked, throwing up her hands. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The copy-editor shrugged. “Why don’t you give the guy a chance? Seems cool.”

Everyone murmured in agreement.

Miranda groaned and laid her head on the desk in defeat.